If her husband’s death had released her from the role of dutiful rector’s wife, it also gave her a new perspective on her grown children. They were living their own lives now, making their own decisions. She was no longer required to will them through each new phase of their lives. She could now begin willing herself through her own. As she was able, she went on cruises and signed up for courses and attended symphony orchestra concerts.
So when she asked Father David about his plans, she was interested, but not as a mother who felt she had to interfere to set things right. She was interested as one adult to another. As she set the tray on the coffee table before them, she simply wanted to know his plans.
“Well,” Father David began. “I’ve accepted an interim ministry. It’s in British Columbia.” He looked over at her for a reaction. Seeing none, he continued, “Vancouver Island, actually. It’s for six months. I hope we’ll have figured some things out by then.”
“What things, David?” she asked him, handing him his cup of tea.
“Things. I don’t know. Beverley and I seem to be going through something right now, I don’t know what it is. I don’t know, Mother. Everything just seems so confusing.”
“And Beverley?” she asked. “What does she say about this … separation?”
Father David frowned. He put his tea cup down. “It’s not good, Mother. She’s not very happy about it. Neither are Paul and Catherine. They think … they think I’m running away or something.”
“Are you, David?” she asked him. “Are you running away?”
He felt his emotions rising to the surface again. But she did not look away. He struggled to gain control of his cursed quivering chin and to hold back the tears that were welling in his eyes. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. She had her answer.
“You know, David,” she said pensively, “you were always such a serious child. I used to call you my ‘little man.’ You always wanted to know what was expected of you, and then you tried to do just that. You wanted to please everyone. And you got ever so mad if you were playing a game with your friends and they didn’t play by the rules. It used to make me feel sad for you. You seemed such a lonely little boy. Like your father, in some ways.”
She sipped at her tea, placing the cup back on the saucer she held in her hand. “You won’t know this, I suppose,” she said, looking amused. “But since your father died, I have had several suitors.”
Father David looked at her, surprised.
“It’s true,” she said with a smile. “And not just two.”
“They wanted to marry you?” he said.
“Is that so hard to believe?” she asked.
“No. Not at all, really,” he said. “I just never really thought about it.”
Lucille smiled again, nodding slightly. “Well, it’s true. But I didn’t want to get married again. Once was enough. I loved your father. He was good to me and good to you and Paula. There are days I miss him terribly. But I don’t miss being married. I don’t know if you can understand that. While we were married, it would never have occurred to me to leave your father. I was happy, as far as I could tell. And besides, there simply wasn’t the time to think about it. But when he died, I guess I just didn’t want to have to work so hard again.”
Father David thought about this for a moment. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But do you want to know what I think? I think this plan of yours is not about you and Beverley. I don’t think it’s about your marriage. I think it’s about you. I might wish you didn’t have to do this — I mean, poor Beverley. And the children .…” She shook her head. “But I don’t suppose at this stage there is any other way.” She looked at him. “So you just do what you have to do.”
Father David was confused by her words. But he raised his eyes to hers. “Thank you, Mother,” he said.
“Well, I’ll get supper started,” she said, rising. As she carried the tray into the kitchen she called over her shoulder, “You should phone your sister. She’s worried about you.”
That night, settling deep into the soft mattress of the single bed in the guest room, Father David slept soundly. And as he slept, he dreamed.
It was the dead of night. Silhouettes of winter trees framed the hillside, their bare branches swaying in a soundless wind. His mother, wearing an apron, stood beneath one of those trees, waiting for him. As he approached he saw that they were in a cemetery, a gothic cemetery with tall monuments surrounded by low wrought iron fences. She watched him as he made his way between the headstones and the fresh mounds of earth. He felt frightened, but her presence strengthened him for what he had to do.
He arrived at an old grave site, unmarked and set with concrete walls deep into the ground, like a large bathtub. He climbed down into it. It was larger than he expected. At one end, where the drain should be, was a small door-like contraption. He had to turn a handle to remove the door. It exposed a deep hole containing a series of similar contraptions. Removing each one in turn, he came finally to a small tin. He reached down, grasped it by a handle on the lid, and hauled it all the way up from the bottom. Peeling back the lid, he saw a moist living substance, like pressed ham. He knew it to be the heart of a great and revered saint. A tiny fork, concealed inside the lid, permitted him to withdraw one squared piece that had been cut the length of the heart. It slid out easily.
Father David awoke with a start. The sun was rising. It was time to leave.
Mid-morning, Harv brought the new car around. He asked what Father David thought of her. The Ford Escort wagon was a metallic baby blue, but Father David didn’t care about its aesthetics. It had almost 200,000 km on it, but that kind of number didn’t mean much to Father David. So he said it looked fine.
He immediately set to filling the wagon with his belongings. He had been up and out early, using his mother’s car, taking what he needed from his office before Margaret got in. He left a note for her, trying to explain what was happening. But he knew there was no way she, or anyone else, would understand. He would just have to leave a few loose ends, though this was so unlike him. The bishop would be making some sort of provision for Sunday supply, so in a matter of weeks they would have moved on without him anyway.
He wasn’t in a mood to chat. So he gave his full attention to packing the car, turning his back on his mother and his brother-in-law as they stood by the curb, watching him. He did not wish to endure Harv’s dismissive smirks, especially as it was now plainly evident that he himself had lied the previous day, suggesting the car had been for Beverley But what did it matter now? In half an hour he would be on his way. He trained his mind on the task at hand.
The cartons of books fit easily into the back, though they didn’t leave room for much else. He stuffed his suitcase into the space behind the passenger seat, and laid out his robes carefully across the back seat. At the foot of the passenger’s seat he placed his boots and his duffel coat. On the seat itself he placed a road map of Canada he had bought earlier that morning. Overhead, on the under side of the visor, he found a place for a small pad of paper, a few pencils, and a thin emergency flashlight.
He placed the requisite car registration and insurance forms in the glove compartment, closed it up tight, and sat for a moment behind the wheel. It would be courteous to offer Harv a ride back to his office, but he was beyond courtesy now. He rose from the wheel, kissed his mother on the cheek, asking, as he did, if she would mind returning Harv to his office. He shook Harv’s large hand and thanked him for helping him out.
Then he started the car, waved, and pulled away. Harv had already